Tributes
by BlueSunflower
Summary: Collection of short stories. 1: Auld Acquaintance; 2: Childhood Heroes; 3: Terrible Twos; 4: Ache; 5: Nightmares; 6: Water; 7: Animal; 8: Green
1. Auld Acquaintance

A/N: Most of these are prompts from either gameofcards or comment-fic at LJ.

A/N 2: Marishna's prompt: Should auld acquaintance be forgot.

* * *

It's been years since I last saw him. He looks good. No, more than that. He looks happy. The woman standing next to him is smiling too. I presume she's his wife. The two young boys with them look remarkably like their father.

I find myself at odds with my emotions. I thought I'd feel distress upon laying eyes on him again. For all our problems, I never wanted to cause him pain. Instead, I feel only relief.

Suddenly, his eyes lock with mine, and he heads over. "Hello, Catnip," he says quietly.

"Gale," I acknowledge.

"Is this the part where I'm supposed to act jealous?" A familiar voice alights next to me, breaking the tension.

Even Gale chuckles at my charming husband. "Hello, Peeta." They exchange pleasantries for a bit. This doesn't surprise me. They were never much of friends, but they weren't enemies either. Mostly, it's comments about the rebuilding of 12. This is Gale's first return since the war, at the tenth anniversary of the district's bombing.

There is a certain list of people that everyone wants to attend their memorials. Gale is on it. He's made quite the name for himself over the years. Peeta and I, though, are at the very top of the list. We sent our regrets to the other Districts and the Capitol. The memories have hit too hard this year, for both of us. We couldn't, however, say no to District 12.

Finally, an announcement from our mayor that the Remembrance is set to begin, drowns out our conversation. Peeta says his temporary good-bye, gently kisses me, and then leaves me alone with my old friend. There's silence between us for a moment before Gale finally says, "You look good, Catnip."

"You look happy, Gale," I respond.

"I am," he agrees, eyes flickering for a moment back over to his family. I'm not surprised he doesn't return the sentiment to me. Like I said, it's been a difficult year. It must show. Instead he sweeps his gaze over the square and sighs. "I can't believe how much has been rebuilt."

"It's a long process, rebuilding," I search out Peeta in the crowd, standing next to Haymitch, and smile when I see them. "But worth the time, and the finished product is amazing."


	2. Childhood Heroes

"Miss Everdeen?"

I turn around at the sound of my name. A woman not much younger than me stands there, clearly nervous. I try to put her at ease. After all, I've had plenty of practice on this 25th Anniversary tour. "Mellark," I put in, quietly. Always, as soon as I've said it, the person I'm speaking to brightens, as if my marriage to Peeta is the best news they've ever heard ~ even though Panem knows full well I've been married to my husband for decades.

This woman is no different. She smiles, then says, "You may not remember me, but we've met before. During your first Victory Tour."

A faint memory tugs at me, but doesn't form anything more substantial. That is, until she continues.

"We were in District 2. I'm the one who told you when I grew up I wanted to volunteer, just like you did for your sister."

Without warning, the pain hits me, and the tears well behind my eyes. I remember now. This once child, enraptured in my so-called heroics, wanting to emulate me without realizing the true cost. "I-" I start.

But she shakes her head, as if she knows what I'm going to say before I do. "I just wanted to thank you," she says and glances over to where I see a man and two children waiting for her.

"I don't understand," I tell her. And I don't. She's from a District where children _fought _to volunteer. If anything, I took her shot at sacrifice and fame away.

"No, **I** didn't understand," she corrects. "About the Games. I thought they were something to aspire to. A glory to obtain." She smiles brighter at her family, then returns her gaze to me. "So I'm thanking you, for saving my life. For ending the Games. You saved me, and you saved my children." At this point, she focuses beyond me, and I know she's looking at my own family, sitting at the cafe table not far away. "You saved us all."


	3. Terrible Twos

Prompt: They're called the terrible twos because awful doesn't start with a T.

A/N: Children borrowed from "Worse Games to Play" by Belmione.

* * *

It's a true testament of my love for my husband that I don't remind him having children was his idea. Peeta at least has the grace to look apologetic as Glen continues to scream in his arms. Normally, Glen is a very placid toddler - but mostly only when I'm around.

I sigh and reach out. Immediately, my son climbs into my embrace, holding tight against my neck. His screaming stops, but his sniffles continue against my chest, and I sigh again, resigned to a shirt covered with toddler snot. After two and a half years, I'm still not used to this: being the preferred parent. Because yes, as Peeta likes to put it, my son is a Mama's boy.

"What's wrong, turtle?" I ask him quietly, but in essence I'm asking his dad. Glen's vocabulary, while improving, is still low, and the only time he's truly chatty is when Haymitch is around. I manage to understand the words "Iris", "book", and "mine", but have no idea what the context means.

Peeta helpfully translates. "I think he's discovered Iris took her book to school."

It's at this point I realize that I'm in my daughter's room. I had been downstairs until I heard the screaming. It's amazing all the details you miss when you think someone you love is in pain. "We've talked about this, Glen." I gently chide him. "This is Iris' room, and her things. You'll get your own when you start school yourself."

"Wanna now," comes the sniffled response. How I earned this child, I'll never know. He's not even three, and already tries to soak up every piece of knowledge he can get. It's incredible to me all this fuss is over his older sister's book for English, and one without pictures no less.

Peeta chuckles, and I throw him a warning look. He stops, but I still see a smirk on his lips. "I think maybe another trip to the library is in order." He heads out of the room, and I follow him down the stairs, still carrying a teary eyed Glen.

"Peeta, it's freezing," I remind him as we enter the kitchen. It was difficult enough to get Iris to school this morning. The thought of bundling up my son and walking him three miles in this weather to the library fills me with more dread than dealing with Iris on any morning.

Picking up the phone, he dials and winks at me. "I don't mean the library downtown," Peeta teases. As the person at the other end of the line picks up, a devilish grin appears on his face as he innocently says, "Hello, Haymitch?"


	4. Ache

Prompt: ache

* * *

I always feel helpless when I watch Peeta on our bed, as he idly rubs at his leg. It's the end of the day, and as I exit the bathroom, I lean against the door frame and ask, "How's your leg?"

Peeta sighs. "I've had better days," he admits. I walk over and sit next to him on the bed. I run my hand across the artificial leg, but I have no more ideas on how to fix the problem than he does. He works so hard, and standing all day at the bakery certainly doesn't help. I wish he'd take things easier, but that wouldn't be my Peeta.

"Maybe we could have someone look at it," I suggest.

This earns me a wry smile. "By who, Katniss? You know as well as I do we're not going to the Capitol anytime soon."

I consider this. Technically, we could go to the Capitol. It's been a couple of years, and thanks to Beetee and Dr. Aurelius, I've been cleared and am allowed to leave Twelve now. But Peeta's right. Neither of us wants to leave here. As much work as it's taken to gain these few small measures of peace we currently have, a trip to the place responsible for the nightmares could easily throw us right back into them again.

"You know," I say slowly, "we are Victors..."

Immediately Peeta shakes his head. "No. We're not trading on that." He's adamant. "Never again."

"Okay," I softly agree. "But we do have money." This is true. The new government is honoring the contracts to the surviving Victors. It won't be long until Peeta and I are two of the richest people in Panem.

"Yeah," Peeta stops me. "I've been thinking about that."

This surprises me. We rarely use our money, so I rarely think about it. Nowadays, we mainly trade or make things ourselves. It's not like food is a problem for us anymore, what with my hunting and Peeta's baking. In fact, I think the only times we really use our money are for Peeta's supplies for the bakery. On occasion, when weather's really bad, or work is hard to come by for our community, Peeta dips into our funds to make sure he doesn't have to raise prices in order to pay his employees.

"I'm wondering if this ache isn't," he pauses, "in my head."

I start. This is definitely not what I expected. "What do you mean?"

"I don't feel right, just taking the money."

It doesn't feel right to me either, but I'm still puzzled as to what Peeta's trying to get at. "What does feel right?" I finally ask.

His beautiful blue eyes gaze at me intently. "Donating those two months a year to Rue and Thresh's families," he answers without hesitation.

I nod. I understand now. "You want to give our money away."

"Well, not all of it," he admits. "But maybe there's a way to use our Victor status, without people actually knowing we're using it."

"Yeah," I agree. "I don't want the attention anymore either. But you're right, I still want to help, and we can do that now."

"Yes, we can," Peeta smiles, and I can't help but join him. "There's a lot of things Panem and District 12 need, that we can help with, without anyone knowing, or us ever leaving home."

I don't hesitate with my list. "A library!" Prim always loved books. "Or a theater or college." The thought excites me, which in a way is calming. I don't often get excited about things. Clearly I've been thinking along the same lines as Peeta, even though I never realized it.

Peeta kisses me. "Art classes. Cooking classes. Heck, _any _kind of classes."

"Mmm," I lean into the kiss. "But who can we talk to about our idea?"

"I know someone we can trust," Peeta assures me as we continue to kiss. Laying back, he pulls me against him. "I'll call him tomorrow."

I capture his lips in a smile. "Make sure to let Haymitch know he's the one paying for the library when you do."


	5. And you thought your nightmares were bad

Prompt: caitieness, _any fandom based in war, and you thought your nightmares were bad_

Note: Inspired (references to) Chapter 9 of the Narrow Path series by FernWithy. Find it on Archive of Our Own instead of here.

* * *

A sudden silence envelopes the table as Plutarch's words fall upon us.

Peeta limply puts his spoon down, suddenly pale. "Portia's dead?" His food forgotten, he turns to me and asks, "Haymitch?"

I don't respond. There's a reason I didn't tell him. Cowardliness plays only a small part.

That's all the confirmation the boy needs. "When?" he demands.

"Peeta - "

"Forget it, Haymitch. I'm not interested in your excuses," Peeta angrily interrupts me. "When?" he demands again.

I lock my eyes on his. "You know when."

Swaying slightly, I watch as the boy struggles to stay upright. "They killed her because of me," he shakes, no question in his tone. "Because you came back and rescued me." The energy and grief now vibrating off him is immeasurable. The spoon in his hand is slowly being bent out of shape. It's obvious that won't keep him focused for long. Silently, I curse Plutarch for now setting back everything Peeta's recovered by days, if not weeks.

Through the corner of my eye, I see Finnick quietly rise at the end of the table. Everyone can see Peeta's about to become undone, but Finnick and I know better than most how one responds to learning you're responsible for the death of others. I keep Peeta's attention while Finnick goes to the panel by the door to call the medics for a sedative. "It wasn't your fault, Peeta," I try and tell him.

"Liar!" A fist now pounds on the table, making plates and people alike jump. Wild now, Peeta stands up just as the medics rush in. They quickly sedate him. Gale and Finnick help catch him as he falls, and the medics put him on the stretcher and take him to the medical wing .

"You're such a bastard, Plutarch." Finnick tells him. I don't trust myself to say or do anything. Not with a knife near my hand.

"You're Victors," Plutarch reminds him flatly.

"Somebody want to explain what's going on?" demands Gale, looking from Plutarch to Finnick to me.

Thoughts of my mother, brother, and Digger rush through my mind. More nightmares for me tonight. Finnick stays silent as well. His loss isn't nearly as equal as mine, but that doesn't mean it isn't as painful. It's nothing compared to what Peeta endures, however. His and Katniss' trials eclipse anything us Victors have suffered through under the hands of Snow. There are times I'm amazed either of them can function at all, even in the screwed up capacity they usually manage.

After all, _millions_ are dying in their names. Far more than my three.


	6. Water

A/N: Children from "Worse Games to Play" by Belmione.

* * *

"It's hard, isn't it?"

I startle out of my husband's embrace as Annie sits on the log next to us. We're in District 4, visiting my mother. As always, this includes time with Annie and her family as well. She's remarried, and her new husband is great, but Finnick is never far from anyone's thoughts. As for my mother, she's down closer to the shoreline, with Iris and Glen. Iris is building what I think is a sandcastle, but what my three year old son is up to is anyone's guess. Glen keeps running into the waves, screaming, then running back, laughing like crazy and falling into the sand. It's been a repeated pattern for at least the last twenty minutes. It's a joy to watch, although I suspect cleaning him off tonight may become one of my new nightmares.

Unsurprisingly, both Peeta and I understand Annie's meaning immediately. My husband smiles gently at her, but I can see the hurt hiding in his eyes. "Yeah. I wish we could enjoy all this," he gestures to the beauty around us: the pristine beach, sparkling waters, gorgeous sky, and warm winds, "without the tinge of the Games."

I agree. Without meaning to, I let slip, "This is why I was afraid to have children. That we couldn't be good parents, because everything we do is tainted by our past."

This time I am surprised. Instead of nodding her head in agreement, Annie beams at us both. "No. You both are incredible parents. Iris and Glen are two of the luckiest kids in Panem. You're not like me."

We both look to her, puzzled.

Annie slowly sighs. "Killian is just like his dad. Fascinated by the ocean since the moment he was born. You have no idea how much I tried to change that."

It hurts to think of Finnick. Even more so when I remember how Annie won her Games: surviving a flood by treading water. "How did you finally accept it?" I ask.

Annie's gaze returns to the sea, and I can tell she's reliving her memories. As her hair flows lazily in the cool breeze, she finally tells us, "One day I realized Killian's never been hurt by the water. Only me. I was projecting my fears onto him, and I don't want that." She sighs. "I never want Killian to be afraid like I was." She turns to look at us again. "That's how I know you're amazing parents, Katniss. Neither of you uttered a word when your kids ran straight past you to the beach."

I realize the truth in her words. I never want to see the pain we endured before the Games ended in the eyes of my children either. "No," I nod, understanding. "They love the water too much."

"Maybe that's when the real healing begins," Peeta wraps an arm around me, and I rest my head against his shoulder as we both watch our children giggle madly yards away. "When we start seeing the world through their eyes instead of ours."


	7. Animal

A/N: Children inspired by "Worse Games to Play" by Belmione.

* * *

They say the best way to raise responsible children is to give them responsibilities. It took a very long time, but Peeta and I finally agreed to pets. With conditions, of course.

So now, Iris has her hunting dog, which she will be spending the summer training extensively. Now it's Glen's turn. At seven, he's still too young for a pet that needs a lot of care. Luckily, this is solved when we learn Tom and Delly's cat delivered a litter a few weeks ago.

Both are standing outside, waiting for us to arrive. Beside them is a wooden box, which I assume contains the kittens. Iris wastes no time joining their kids, eager to tell them all about her new Irish Setter pup.

We walk up and Glen immediately zeroes in on the runt - a quiet little white ball of fluff that returns Glen's interest, by climbing up his pants.

"She's a good choice," Delly beams at him. "We've noticed she's a good lap cat. What are you going to name her?"

"Snow!" my little boy innocently says, clutching his new kitten to his chest.

I nearly faint. The memories overwhelm me so much I'm not sure how I remain standing. Beside me, I feel Peeta turn rigid as he fights the sudden onset of an episode. I don't know how I didn't see this coming.

I cannot have this cat in my house.

Before Peeta and I can break our little boy's heart, Tom leans down to him. "No, Glen, you don't want to name him Snow." I see him give a quick glance up to us, as we're both still too shocked to move. "Haven't you seen what snow becomes here? It may start out pretty, but it gets nasty real quick. All the dirt that mixes in? You remember what it's like to walk to school through all that muck, right?" I see Glen's doubtful face, as he shakes his head yes. Tom smiles at my son, and reaches out to scratch the kitten's ears. "How about you name her something that always makes you happy, huh? This is a good kit here, and she deserves a good name - one that will fit her all the time, don't you think?"

Glen brightens enthusiastically and nods. "Her name is Happy!" Before Peeta and I can say anything, he scampers off to show the others his new pet.

I cannot thank Tom enough. In reality, I cannot thank him at all. The ability to speak has left me. All I can hope for is that he sees the gratitude in my eyes.

Clearly he does, as he smiles. "It's about time you two finally let someone help you out."


	8. Green

Green is the forest, in a place I called home  
Until I was forced to the Capitol, a basic new Rome

Green is the luscious color of trees  
Where I felt safe and protected until they forced me to flee

Green is the grass upon which little Rue lies  
As well as the Meadow, where District Twelve buried who died

Green was the salad that saved my family from hunger  
Until I honed my shooting skills as a proficient hunter

But now orange joins in, the color of Peeta my sweet  
The boy with the bread who makes me complete.


End file.
